


The Girlfriend Experience

by anacel



Category: Scott & Bailey
Genre: Alternate Universe, Escort Service, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anacel/pseuds/anacel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Escort AU – or a slightly more literal origin of the nickname ‘Slap’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Girlfriend Experience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [featherxquill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherxquill/gifts).



> **Content Notice:** This story explores the sex industry and issues of consent. Any and all facts pertaining to escort services were gathered from research, news tabloids, personal accounts from sex workers in the industry, and whenever possible information specifically in the UK.
> 
> The title is taken from a type of service an escort may offer to a client.
> 
> Many thanks to Angie for her masterful beta work, the thoughtful insights, and encouragements throughout writing this piece. 
> 
> This was tremendous fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it too!

After a  gruelling week of leads hitting dead ends, Gill Murray sat alone in a large corner booth, swirling the remains of her drink before taking another sip. It had been her call to go out for a nightcap, readily admitting she hadn’t been the best boss to deal with that week. Her team had retired hours ago from sheer exhaustion. Janet, her old friend, had stayed a bit longer to discuss some concerns she’d had about Gill that morning, but Gill had waved her off to go home to her daughters about half an hour ago.

Gill wondered if she should pack it in too; it might not be such a wise idea for her to be left alone. That had certainly not gone well the night before – sleeping with a bloody prostitute and all. She’d been berating herself about it all day, and was keen to erase the entire episode from her recollection with a good amount of alcohol.  

As far as her personal life went, she'd thought she was finally getting out of that slump – but now she had yet another STI exam looming, which was a stark reminder that she was not quite on the ball yet when it came to getting back on her feet. One harmless shag with a woman – who'd turned out to be a bloody call girl – and she was back to square one. 

Gill wanted to be alone, wind down and put this week behind her. Thankfully, her son was staying at his father’s house for the week – it was Sammy’s idea that he try to make peace with his father’s “new family”. Dave’s whore had given birth to a daughter in the middle of their divorce proceedings, like a cruel joke amidst all the humiliation and loss. Gill had put seventeen years into that marriage, and he had walked away with the daughter she'd always wanted.

_Happy Fucking Anniversary._

It was during these quiet moments where the shift in Gill's life began to weigh heavily on her. She still missed her old job at the National Crime Faculty; it had only been a couple of months since she’d stepped in as DCI of her own MIT syndicate. It seemed almost like divorcing Dave had been the easier hurdle to overcome. Letting go of her dream job was a harder pill to swallow, even though her resignation had come with the recognition that there was always room for her at the Crime Faculty. Perhaps once Sammy was in college she’d return, but for now she was making do.

“Fancy seeing you here…” purred a disturbingly familiar voice behind her shoulder.

Gill’s head spun around to look up in surprise. “You!” It was the prostitute from last night, like some twisted joke.

“Hiya.” The woman grinned and slipped into the booth next to Gill. Her eyes squinted to read the nametag Gill had forgotten to take off after work. " _DCI_ Murray. Really? Interesting. You left in a rather hurry this morning." 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Gill’s back straightened in her seat, jaw set and anger burning through her chest. 

“Me?” The woman answered back, twisting in her seat to face Gill’s tight-lipped scowl. “I live around here. You’re in my territory, cock.”

 

Duke Street’s local gal had been for years.

Julie Dodson – alias whatever suited her on any given night – stared down the woman she'd last seen fleeing from her client's apartment at a truly ridiculous hour of the morning, until said woman was forced to look away.

“Fine, whatever,” Gill said, waving Julie off. “Just leave. There’s plenty of room to sit elsewhere.” She seemed agitated, as well she might be, given the way she had handled herself that morning.

Julie signaled the barman for a bottle of her usual and made herself more comfortable in the seat beside Gill. “I’ll only be a minute. It’s just that–” Julie’s voiced trailed off as she rooted around her bag for an item that had been left on the bedroom floor that morning “–my clients don’t normally let me keep souvenirs of our…encounters.” 

Gill’s eyes widened as Julie pulled out a stretch of lace and dangled it in front of her. “Give me that!”

But before she could snatch it back, Julie thought better of it, stuffing it into the pocket of her leather jacket and patting it for good measure. "No, love, I think I’ll keep it. So thoughtful of you." Julie smirked. 

"What d’you want anyway? I’ve already paid you off, _slap_." The derogatory slur made it plain she wasn’t happy with Julie’s little display of leverage.

Julie let it roll off her shoulder. She’d been called worse: slag, whore, tart. It came with the job. 'Slap' was new.

“Rather generously,” Julie granted. Not technically true – the payment had definitely been _creative,_ but was essentially null and void. She'd never thought she’d see the other woman again, and admitted to herself that there was a good reason for Gill to be hostile – their morning could certainly have gone better. Julie had laughed it off, didn’t see the point in overthinking it, but wanted to extend an invitation of drinks on her for Gill’s trouble: “Why don’t you let me buy you a drink, _detective_.”

“Are you mad?” Gill looked scandalized and Julie had to swallow a laugh. “It was a one-off. I'm not interested in…in doing that with you again.”

Julie leaned towards Gill. “What? Having _hot_ , steamy sex with me?” Her voice was teasing. She knew full well that sitting like this was giving Gill quite the view down her blouse. “Suit yourself. Might want to keep your eyes from looking down my top, though.” Gill’s eyes, predictably, had flicked downward for a moment. “Sends the wrong message.”

“I was not!” Gill protested wildly, before lowering the tone of her voice to a whispered hiss, “And will you keep it down; I don’t want the whole bloody pub to know I slept with a prostitute.”

“—Escort,” Julie corrected the other woman lightly. “Nothing to be ashamed about. I’ve slept with quite a number of people from your department.” It was an attempt to lighten the mood, but it seemed Gill was not remotely amused by it, or by the broad smile playing on Julie's lips.

“Good god,” Gill shuddered, looking rather pale. “I don’t even want to know.” 

Gill Murray was not Julie Dodson’s first DCI. 

In truth, she’d moved on from inspectors – chief or otherwise – some time ago, but she _liaised_ with a number of high-profile police officers both in and out of town on a fairly regular basis. Honestly, she was surprised that Gill seemed so shocked to hear that.

“I use protection with all my clients,” Julie supplied, hazarding a guess that the source of Gill's discomfort might be the sudden realisation that she may have shared the same partner with her colleagues. "Including you." Julie was a consummate professional, after all. Gill had certainly indulged herself in a fair few drinks throughout the night, and it seemed her memory was rather murky on the details, if she’d forgotten that bit.

“Well that’s a relief, isn’t it?” Gill said scathingly. “I've never felt so humiliated, disgusted and appalled in my life.” Her eyes flicked to the side, suggesting otherwise, but she didn’t renounce her statement.

“Never had a bad customer service experience in your life?” Julie bantered back. The other woman’s face remained unchanged.

Julie had had an entire day to ruminate on what a total cock-up she’d made of their evening. She had planned to drink herself silly and forget about it all, until she'd stumbled into Gill sitting alone at her local pub and realised it was probably best to come clean. She didn’t quite know why, exactly – maybe in the spirit of penance?

Always leave a client with a good experience, she thought.

Except Gill Murray was not a client, and she was making that perfectly clear.

There were roughly three types of ‘working girls’ in the UK: the classic prostitute who worked the streets at night, the sex worker who serviced clients in brothels, and the escort attached to an agency.

Julie Dodson fell somewhere just off centre. She was something of a rarity in the business, as a 40-something year-old established, independent prostitute. She had done away with the middle-man and was whoring _herself_.

And she'd built her independent career on not making cock-ups like last night's.

The job market these days wasn’t like it had been twenty years ago, but she’d had to change along with it if she wanted to keep up. These days, girls were profiting off publishing best-selling memoirs and signing television deals, but Julie thought they all read the same. No one ever talked about growing old in the business, like the intersections between ageism and sex work. Not that Julie had any plans on writing a tell-all herself; she thought she’d be more of an advice column type of gal.

“Here's 20 pounds,” Gill said, breaking Julie out of her reverie and stuffing a banknote down her blouse. “Just scamper off.”

“Oh, handsy! If only all my clients tipped this well,” Julie said, but made no move to fish the money out. She joined both her hands above the table and looked squarely at Gill. “Look, I’m here to apologise. This has been a huge misunderstanding; I’m afraid it was a case of mistaken identity.”

Gill’s eyes widened. “What d'you mean?”

“You fit the description of the client I was supposed to meet: Gill with the choppy brunette hair and pointed nose, a cop in a cop pub.” Gill looked at her skeptically, prompting Julie to elaborate further. “I don’t normally take on new clients, but a regular of mine had asked if I’d be interested in showing her friend a good time. Apparently, she's making some changes in her life, one of those being her sexual orientation. My specialty, of course – how could I refuse?”

How could she refuse Karen Zalinski?

There was history there – Karen had been one of her first, and a sort of mutual dependency had blossomed over the course of their frequent meetings. Karen, like most of her regular clients, was a career woman, and wanted to avoid the commitment or attachment required in conventional intimate relationships. Their association had given Julie the idea to seek out others like her. She had, developing quite a list of similar clients, and as their careers had progressed they'd ended up with a considerable amount of disposable income – considerable enough that after a while Julie had been able to support herself on their patronage. But Julie always had time for Karen Zalinski, or indeed for anyone she referred.

Except Gill wasn't one of those women.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes like you want to bury me six feet under.” Julie observed the other woman’s body language.

“I could get away with it,” Gill replied tersely. Her entire upper body remained rigid, apparently not appeased by Julie's confession.

Julie, nonplussed by the reactionary words, felt secure in the knowledge that at the very least _Chief Superintendent_ Karen Zalinski might take notice if she went missing – or was murdered. She had the Chief Super booked for the end of the month.

Julie cleared her throat to reply. “Why don’t we get our stories straight, from your perspective first? Correct me if I’m wrong, detective, but you made the first move. My advances were not one-sided.”

 

She had, she really had.

_Bugger._

Gill had bumped into the woman at the bar and accidentally spilled her drink. Gill had kindly offered to buy another and introduced herself.

There had certainly been an attraction between them that night, and Gill had made it perfectly obvious that she was interested. She had kissed the other woman before she'd thought better of it.

Next thing Gill knew, she had been pressed against the wall of someone’s apartment the moment they entered the doorway. Instinctively, Gill had pulled the other woman against her, her arms winding around the taller woman’s neck. The soft, yellow light of the hallway had caught the contours of the woman’s face, laugh lines marking her age and character – humbling in a way that spoke of experience.

The woman had snaked her hand around Gill’s waist, hips pushing into hers and faces tilting ever closer. Gill had licked her lips in anticipation and the woman had smiled, as if she knew that Gill was reacquainting herself again with the female body after a long sabbatical (of dealing with lying, cheating ex-husbands).

The kiss in the doorway had led to them stumbling into the bedroom. The woman had stilled their movements at the foot of the bed and had whispered flirtatious innuendos in her ear. Gill had dragged the woman down for a snog, permission enough to move the night along. She hadn't needed pleasantries, she wanted to be fucked. There was a part of her that had subconsciously begun to compare her sexual partners with Dave after the divorce, but she wanted to forget about all that more than ever, sleeping with a woman again after nearly two decades. With one hand pressed against the bed linens and the other carding through soft, dirty-blonde hair, Gill had gloried in having her senses set afire.

Gill had woken up the next day thoroughly sated. As she'd dressed, she had discovered bites and bruises along her thighs, and instead of being annoyed she had luxuriated in the fact that she looked like a week-old apple. She had approached the encounter with no expectations and had been pleasantly surprised. But the hazy, morning-after contentment that had dulled her senses quickly vanished when she realised the woman was a sex worker.

Gill had always prided herself on being a pretty good judge of character (save for her ex-husband; she wasn’t perfect, after all), so it had honestly come as a surprise when the woman had revealed herself as a prostitute. The woman had even accused her of skipping out on payment – “had expected better from you, love,” she'd tsked, lying on her side, not bothering to cover up. Gill had been completely mortified, not understanding how exactly she had gotten herself into such a predicament, and needing to get a move on the morning lest she be late for work. She hadn’t intended to stay the night, but she must have been far more drunk than she'd realised. She'd done the only thing she could do without a bloody penny on her person, had written the woman a cheque, and she wasn’t entirely sure how many zeroes she'd put at the end, either.

“Alright, so I did give you my consent – because I didn’t know you were an escort. But none of that explains how you made the mistake, why you didn't just ask in the first place.”

The woman – she had introduced herself the previous evening, but Gill now had no doubt that the name had been a lie – shook her head in response. “Like I said, it was a pre-arranged encounter between a trusted client and it hadn’t raised any flags. I did try to ask you multiple times if you knew what the 'the deal' was, and if I remember correctly you slipped your hand inside my blouse and told me to shut up.” She filled in the gap of the night before from her perspective.

“— _the deal_?” Gill parroted back. “I thought you were flirting with me?”

“I was, but it’s all part of the service, love. And it fooled me as well — it was close to the encounter that my client had wanted. Some women prefer to be as discreet as possible to make the experience feel more authentic. Well, that’s what a GFE promises – ‘the girlfriend experience’—”

Gill inhaled sharply, nose flaring in simmering rage. “I know what it is. I’m not completely unaware of what services escorts offer.” 

She’d seen it on the job. Twenty-six year old girl found partly dismembered in a trunk of a car. One of the girls from the same agency as the victim had tipped them off about her missing friend, as well as a suspicious john who had been stalking the young woman, buying her lavish gifts in a futile attempt to win her heart. The suspect had gotten sloppy – became too obsessed with this one victim. They caught him on CCTV heading to Bristol, presumably to dump the body. He was a wealthy businessman who traveled often for work, and it provided the perfect cover for all his illicit expenditures. They linked him to the disappearance of three other girls – in three other counties, who offered the same luxury rental girlfriend experience from anywhere between £600 - £1500 a night. It was a lucrative business with high stakes, and it attracted some very unsavoury characters. 

The prostitute looked surprised. “Oh, well then, you know that—”

“Feigning intimacy was part of the job?” Gill cut her off, and her gaze pierced through the other woman’s hard exterior, stopping her from explaining further.

Gill worked her way back as she began to piece together the events of the night before. The friendly and flirtatious atmosphere that had enveloped them in the pub and in the bedroom had been engineered to mimic the experience of having a _girlfriend_. 

“Like I said, it's all been a misunderstanding.” The woman looked at her sincerely, seeming to search for the right words. “Mixed signals. But it wasn’t all a lie.”

“I’m finding that hard to believe,” Gill said. It made her stomach turn. She still felt raw after Dave’s deception. And she felt decidedly foolish now for unknowingly buying into the artificial intimacy of human contact that this type of service offered. What was the price tag of sharing a decent night with a complete stranger? 

 

Everything about Gill’s tone put Julie on the defensive. 

It was as if she was standing on trial for choosing to live unconventionally, and after she’d tried to be honest, too. She responded forcefully. “Go on, ask me about anything you’ve told me. There’s a great deal more involved than sex in my line of work – sometimes it’s not about sex at all. I’m not some heartless monster, DCI Murray. You’re a copper; with the stuff you’ve seen you can’t always be a hundred percent objective.”

“Don’t presume to know a bloody thing about me because we shared a bottle and a bed,” Gill replied curtly. 

Julie sighed and became uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. She hadn’t quite pieced together why Gill was reacting so stridently. It was an honest mistake, the kind she wasn’t prone to making, but it had happened, and she had apologised profusely, hadn’t she?

GFEs required her to be intimate in ways she had not allowed herself to be in many years. There were facets of her real self that always scratched the surface, which was why it was such emotionally draining work. It didn’t mean she wasn’t good at it; on the contrary, she was perhaps a little too convincing as _the girlfriend_. Sometimes the women she serviced would set up a meeting, and the night would wear on over a long talk without so much as a heated glance. Half the time she felt like a bloody therapist, but Julie wasn’t one to judge – whatever service they desired had always been generously paid for in kind. Women were just different; their reasons for seeking her services were different. Oftentimes they had fallen out of marriages, or felt trapped in them because of societal pressure to conform to heteronormative lifestyles. And while Julie was just as cautious about developing an attachment with her clients, she had always been sincere about offering comfort. 

When did sex get so complicated? Julie thought. God, it must have been ages since she’d actually had fantastic, unpaid sex – off the clock. She hadn’t anticipated this response from Gill. So what did Gill want from her? For her to walk on her knees for miles through the desert, repenting?

Gill bristled – and that was the only way Julie could think to describe it, a flinch of shoulders and a wave of mood like spikes coming out – when one of the bar staff finally appeared with a glass and the bottle of wine Julie had signalled for. Took them long enough, but Julie supposed it was a busy night. She smiled at the bloke, and nodded, and he poured her glass for her trouble. Gill watched all this with a suspicious expression, then squinted her eyes to try and read the label of the uncorked bottle soaking in the tin ice bucket. Julie quirked an eyebrow, lifting the bottle out to pour Gill a glass of her own.

“Table service – you get table service here?” Gill asked disbelievingly.

“When you’re friends with the owner, sure,” Julie revealed cryptically. They were more like business partners, really. Julie had met him when she'd had no real choice but to service men, back when she was still attached to an agency. It turned out he was a closeted gay man, a birthday boy given an extremely unwelcome gift. They'd talked over dinner and two years later she'd helped him finance the pub and bring in business – so to speak. Julie had very few friends, but she was well connected in this town. Their business endeavour couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. She'd finally been ready to make it on her own and cater to a more female-oriented clientele, and providence had thrown an opportunity in her lap.

Julie watched as Gill’s faced transformed as she drew her own conclusions about Julie’s reach, then looked up at Julie sternly. “Does the entire bloody staff know I’ve slept with a prostitute, then?”

“I’m more discreet than that, ta – and it’s my day off.”

“A hooker with a day off? Well, aren’t you special?” Gill huffed, picking up the new glass of wine in front of her to take a sip and turn away. Julie baulked; she understood that the other woman was eager to cut their conversation short, but it sounded unnecessarily rude. Julie was about to give Gill a piece of her mind when she heard the woman curse, “ _Fuck me_ ,” sounding like she’d just spit acid as she stared daggers at a man and young woman who had entered the pub. 

Gill looked about ten shades paler, but Julie had a retort out of her mouth before she thought better of it. “Again?” 

Gill turned her sharp eyes on Julie. “Zip it, lady,” Gill said. She was clearly beyond her limit of patience for the night. “I just wanted spend my wedding anniversary getting drunk—alone—and he..." But Gill was too riled up to finish her sentence, so she took a giant gulp of her drink instead.

“You're married?” Julie’s eyebrows shot up. That was a fairly big omission. She hadn’t spotted a ring the night before, but then again she hadn't been looking for one, and they'd been talking about far more interesting things than Gill's marital status. Not that this was a problem for her. The majority of her clients were, in fact – women who'd wanted both a career and a socially acceptable lifestyle, but whose tastes ran toward feminine wiles.

“Was married – that’s my tosser of an ex-husband, Dave.” Gill threw a glare in the direction of the man who sat down across the room. Gill squeezed her eyes shut, and rubbed with her fingers at her forehead, twin creases settling deep between her eyebrows. She looked tired, worn – the look of a woman who had lost far too much sleep. “It’s like he does this on purpose,” she mumbled, almost to herself. “Appears out of nowhere to bugger me around.” Gill dropped her hands to the table and they balled into fists so tight her knuckles went white.

Julie looked up at Gill’s ex-husband critically: another average-looking white bloke ensnaring a beautiful, intelligent woman. “And…your daughter?” Julie asked, giving him the benefit of the doubt, though a hint of disbelief carried in her tone.

“No. That's the whore he got pregnant and left me for.”

“Well, a good _whore_ wouldn’t get pregnant,” Julie pointed out slyly. It dawned on her that this ex-husband may be the reason why Gill was having trouble accepting her apology. _Bastard._

Gill had the decency to look abashed. “I wasn’t trying to draw a comparison there – it’s just—“

“She slept with your husband. I know, semantics.” Julie understood, really.

A whore was a whore; to some people it didn't make much of a difference if you did it for a living. She could hardly fault Gill for using the term, but the remark had been instinctive – slightly defensive. The Julie from the night before might have tolerated it out of professionalism, but this was her night off. The real Julie was bound to peek through.

A moment later, Julie saw Gill’s shoulders drop, like the fight in her was draining out of her pores. Julie couldn’t believe the stark change she was seeing. This was not the woman from the night before, or even the one she had sat down with minutes ago. “I’ve got to go,” Gill sighed. 

“Hey – don’t be daft.” Julie twisted in her seat to elbow Gill lightly. “Come on, I’ll buy ya a pint,” she said, letting Gill’s earlier comment slide in favour of seeing through to her apology. Never leave a job unfinished, she thought. 

“No thanks,” Gill said, shaking her head.

Not about to give up on her companion, Julie suggested something quickly. “What do you say to a bit of role-playing?”

Gill shook her head; she looked more resigned than anything. “Whatever it is you’re after, I don’t want any part of it, slap.” Gill started looking around the booth for her things. She was getting ready to run. And there was that slur again. Without the earlier attitude underlying her words, it just sounded pathetic.

Julie raised her hand to reach across the space between them and wrap her fingertips around Gill’s wrist, stopping her from gathering her things. "Free of charge," Julie offered, her eyes turning soft. She was feeling generous tonight.

"What?” Gill asked, on the verge of exasperation, but she didn’t move to detangle herself from Julie’s hold. “Look, lady, I’m not in the mood for whatever deluded game you’ve got going on. I’ve had a long day at work and I’d just like to go home.”

 Julie studied her, dark, hooded eyes focused in the low light. “Stay,” she said, and began to stroke Gill’s wrist soothingly. “Frankly, I didn’t peg you as someone who’d be run off by their ex-husband. So stay, have a drink with me, and I can guarantee you’ll have better memories associated with today.” Julie paused for a moment, actually second-guessing if she’d overstepped her boundaries. “He doesn’t get to dictate your life anymore, love."

 

Gill didn’t know what to say. 

She didn’t want to examine the reality of what this woman – this complete stranger – had called her on. “Who are you, bloody Oprah Winfrey?” Gill laughed to cover up the fact that the woman beside her had unnerved her. “You got any more pearls of wisdom you want to pass on?”

“Depends; can I bribe you to stay?” The other woman seeming to realise she’d hit something sensitive, retreated back a little, letting Gill dictate their next move.

“What’ll it be? A car under the table, maybe a nice red convertible?” Gill played along in mock annoyance.

“I don’t got the keys on me, but I can do somethin’ else for you under the table.” The woman wiggled her eyebrows cheekily.

Ridiculous performance, Gill thought. How on earth had she failed to clue in on the fact that this woman sold sex for a living? Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. “For a moment there I forgot you were, you know—“

“A ‘slap’?” The woman rolled her eyes, before taking off her jacket and adjusting her top.

“Yeah. Mind you, I probably had my own preconceived notions about call girls – emphasis on the word ‘girl’ – that you completely slipped past my radar.” Gill instinctively fell back to the fast-paced manner they had fallen into the previous evening, before she'd realised the woman was ‘on the job.’

“You sure you’re a DCI? You’re a bit slow on the uptake,” the woman retorted.

The comment rubbed Gill the wrong way, like being doused with almost freezing water, giving a her a short, sharp shock to the system. Gill didn't bother to challenge the response, didn’t have a comeback on the tip of her tongue; commenting on her skills as a detective was a step too far. 

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. 

What was she doing, entertaining this woman again? Gill thought perhaps if they'd met under different circumstances, she might have been able to let a comment like that slide right off her back. As it was, though, every bit of banter seemed to be hitting a raw nerve. 

 

Julie had a sinking feeling she had just said something that must have offended the woman. 

Gill flicked her eyes about across the room, carefully avoiding eye contact. Her upper body was tense, like she was cautious about drawing attention to herself with any sudden movements.

Julie felt herself deflate. She'd thought Gill might have actually warmed up to her – the real her. She'd tried to open herself up to the possibility that Gill might see her as something more than a lowly prostitute, but it was clear now that she had been reading this woman all wrong, and she knew when there was no point trying to change someone’s opinion. 

It was time to gracefully bow out before she said more than her apologies. Not that she had a great track record when it came to maintaining interpersonal relationships outside of work. So she might have completely bollocksed it up, the apologising.

“I get the sense we haven’t completely cleared the air, and I’m genuinely sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I'll go.” Julie avoided looking at Gill as she made a move to slide out of the booth. Julie had always drawn boundaries in her line of work, and this was about respecting Gill’s as much as it was about protecting herself.

She was out of her seat and halfway through shrugging her jacket on when Gill’s voice stopped her: “Wait.” Julie turned back and found the other woman watching her with an expression that was rather devious.  

Gill cleared her throat. “I think you’re right,” she admitted, voice suddenly sly. “I was being a coward, but I’m not about to let my ex-husband get the better of me. So, slap. Want to help me pay him back? You mentioned something about role play.” That last part sounded almost playful.

Julie took that as invitation to sit back down, intrigued by the sudden turn things had taken but keeping herself at a distance, yielding to Gill’s call. She had to ask why the moniker was still sticking around, though. “What’s with the ‘slap this' and 'slap that’? I’ve got a name: Julie. Julie Dodson.” She surprised herself – admitting her real name was a rare bit of emotional honesty. 

“Oh.” Gill seemed like she too was surprised by the admission. “Well, that’s quite an unassuming name, unlike the one you’ve introduced yourself as.” 

Last night Julie had introduced herself as _Victoria Grant,_ the alias she'd had Karen Zalinski make note of to pass on to her friend. The name carried bravado and old world sophistication for Julie - she'd borrowed it from a character in one of her favourite films _._ It was an old persona she hadn’t used in quite some time, but like all her identities it was a mask that she could easily slip on like an old pair of shoes worn in by the passage of time – or a spangly pair of showgirl heels, as the case may be.

"Well, you could always use my _professional title_ ," Julie said, dragging out the last. "It's _Independent Provider of Personal Services_." It was nothing of the sort, really, but Julie was always the first person to take the piss out of her own job, when it suited the occasion.

“Hmm, no. 'Slap' suits you.” Gill arched her eyebrows in return. Not budging on the label.

“Okay...fair enough.” Julie couldn't really see why, but she nodded, not wanting to risk ruining this second chance.

“Why give me your real name – if that is your real name?” Gill questioned.

“A parley?” Julie kept her expression soft, but she felt a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth and couldn’t resist making a quip to diffuse the tension: “Do you want to see my CV? I’m afraid I haven’t prepared my references.”

Gill’s lips curled into a into a smile, barely suppressed, seeming to acknowledge that Julie had revealed her real name as a peace offering. It was a strangely intimate thing for her to do, even though for most people it would seem like the most natural thing in the world. She supposed she could see the appeal of ‘slap’. It was safe. It made Julie think that they were on the same page after all. It felt like a nickname, the kind one would bestow a good friend as an inside joke – not that they were friends, exactly, but it was neutral ground they could build on.

Gill peered at Julie for several moments, seemingly evaluating her. “Gill Murray," she said finally, unfurling her hands from their position in her lap to extend one towards Julie, which seemed like a tentative acceptance of her apology.

“Julie Dodson,” Julie said warmly, shaking Gill’s hand in return.

It jolted Julie to the core, a pang of regret that she couldn't remember the last time she had introduced herself by her given name. Had it really been that long since she'd made a new friend?

When Julie was younger, it had been all about the bevy of besotted admirers who had strewn shoes, jewelry, and even the odd car at her feet, as tokens of affection. If they'd insisted on plying her with gifts in transparent and shameless bids to buy her affection, who was she to refuse? Twenty years later she was having an epiphany in the middle of a seedy pub about a handshake. Times had certainly changed.

It was Gill’s hand being pulled out of her grasp, and the odd sideways glance thrown her way that broke Julie out of her thoughts. “Alright, then. We’ve got bigger fish to fry,” Julie said.

“Not that big,” Gill replied, and her eyes darted towards the back of Dave’s big head. Julie snorted in amusement. “How do you want to play this?" Gill asked, looking suddenly uncertain. "We don’t know a thing about each other.”

"Well, I am a professional," Julie said. "Let me lead?" When Gill nodded, Julie draped an arm around her shoulder and drew her into an intimate embrace. “Now then, I give it about 5 minutes before your ex-husband corners us, so give me the details on Dirty Dave.” Julie shot her a crooked smile and winked, and they began to scheme up a cover story.

As she allowed herself to be pulled in close, Gill was enveloped by the familiar scent of the woman’s fragrance, a heady blend of rich plum, patchouli, musk and black amber. It was the same perfume that other woman, _Victoria_ , had worn, but tonight there was a hint of cigarette smoke mingling with it that struck her as distinctively _Julie_ , a perfect balance between ballsy and elegant. Gill breathed it in, leaning close to whisper in Julie's ear, and decided she might even enjoy this.

 

~*~

Dave had come to their table (as expected) under the guise of saying hello to his ex-wife. Gill had briefly explained their current situation: barely on speaking terms, but she had been trying her best to be civil for the sake of their son.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Gill?” Dave asked lecherously, with a face like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle. Revolting. Dave’s eyes made a quick inventory of Julie, and the dissecting nature of his gaze made her skin crawl. She’d been under the scrutiny of her clients before, but very few had made her feel like taking ten baths when she got home.

“No.”

Dave, who didn’t strike her as someone accustomed to rejection, pressed on, turning his question over to her. “What’s your name, love?”

Julie remembered to play it cool and to let Gill handle most of the talking. They had decided she could step in if Dave was being especially difficult – they hadn’t gotten around to discussing what was typical of this man’s behaviour, so Julie had simply appointed herself as referee. “It’s none of your business,” Julie said curtly. “I don’t believe you were invited to this table.”

Dave laughed. “I didn’t think I needed an invitation to say hello to my wife.”

“—Ex-wife, Dave,” Gill cut him off swiftly, “and am I ever glad of it. You’ve said your hello: now leave.” Gill brushed some stray crumbs off the table. 

“Not even going to ask about our son?”

Gill glanced up at him disdainfully. “Have I got something to worry about? Because last I checked I didn’t abandon him last year for a new wife and kid. You should count yourself lucky your son’s giving you another chance.”

“Jeeze, you can be a real bitch, eh,” Dave whined, affecting a wounded puppy expression and glancing at Julie as though she might back him up. 

Julie exchanged glances with Gill, waiting for an opening line to reel Dave in. She'd watched a documentary once, about killer whales tossing their prey back and forth to each other before they ate it. This felt a little like that, although Dave wasn’t much of a catch. Gill wasn't forthcoming with the hook, either, so after a moment Julie took the lead. “Well, I’m a bit of a bitch myself, so you’re in the wrong company. If that’s all you’ve got to say, I think Gill and I would like to continue our date without an audience. Isn’t that right, _honey_?”

Gill adopted a serene expression, shoulders dropping slightly – there was a lightness about her, the likes of which Julie had been privileged enough to witness the night before. Gill placed one of her hands on top of Julie’s on the table and squeezed gently. It was quite a performance, and it left Julie half convinced that the character she was playing was already a little in love with this woman. “You heard the lady, Dave. You’re kind of ruining my date.” Gill's thumb brushed the back of Julie's hand. Julie took everything Gill was putting into her performance and used it to anchor her own emotions. Playing off her was a dream. Julie found she really was as eager to roast and toss Dave as Gill was, wanted to get back to their evening. She'd better make it a good one.

Dave’s lip curled. It had taken everything but beating him over the head with a stick, but he finally seemed to be catching on, taking their closeness as the attack on his virility it was intended to be. His gaze fixed on their hands and then slid back up to Gill's face, every twitch of muscle radiating contempt. “What are you," he asked, "some kind of dyke now?”

“What if I am?” Gill quirked an eyebrow, her body language even more nonchalant.

“You?” Dave asked, growing more aggressive in the face of Gill’s blasé attitude. “You love a big fat cock in your mouth, Gill.” 

“I haven’t heard any complaints,” Julie chimed in, disgusted on Gill's behalf but refusing to give the comment any breathing space. “Right, love?” She took the opportunity to glance at Gill and make sure she was alright.

Gill just smiled. “None from me.”

Dave seemed frustrated by the fact they hadn't risen to his bait. He dropped the sneer and changed tactics. “Does our son know you’re fucking around with a woman? Not really the stable home life you keep promising Sammy.”

“That’s priceless coming from you; are you still robbing the cradle?” Gill retaliated a little more forcefully, a knee-jerk response to Dave’s insinuation. Gill seemed like the type of person to take quite an offence to criticisms about her parenting style, and certainly if they came from Dave. 

Gill eyed the young woman across the room who was watching the interplay at their table, but immediately turned her gaze away from Gill’s scrutiny. Poor girl, sleeping with her married boss – not exactly the type of _career advancement_ you’d want on your record as a copper. Foolish girl, if she thought Dave might turn over a new leaf. Julie knew men like Dave – men who thought themselves gifts to the female population but treated them like disposable property.

“It’s a good thing Sammy’s spending the week with us, if this is the sort of negative influence you’re exposing him to.” 

Dave had hit a nerve. 

Julie watched as Gill’s careful composure cracked and she steeled her voice to deliver another blow. “Negative influence? Says the man who brought a string of women into our household with no regard for our son’s well-being. You can just fuck right off, Dave.” 

Julie felt the eyes of the other patrons watching the growing tension at their table. God, she was too bloody old for this, she thought. She’d been in enough bar fights to know that if Dave opened his giant twatty mouth again, there was all likelihood she’d be the one to throw the first punch. It was best to nip this in the bud before anything dramatic happened. 

Julie turned to her companion, slipping the hand Gill was still holding out of her grip to lay it on her back instead, drawing small, soothing circles. “He’s not worth it, Gill.”  

Gill pressed into Julie’s side, as if they were drawing up an impenetrable wall with their bodies. “You’re right. We were having such a lovely time. I’m sorry, love.”

Julie surprised Gill by kissing her softly on the lips – Julie felt the sharp little intake of breath before she relaxed. Then Gill surprised her by opening her mouth to slip a little tongue in – she was bloody selling it. Julie pulled back, flushed with heat, glancing up at Dave to revel in his scowl. She was not about to let this man walk away with the winning hand. She had a reputation to maintain, after all, and a promise to keep.

“It’s alright. You’ve warned me about your ex-husband being a knob,” Julie said, returning her gaze immediately to Gill, continuing to caress her back. It was only after several moments that Julie deigned to turn away from Gill again, feeling her eyes go from warm to ice-cold as they fixed on Dave again. “Look Dave, I don’t know you, so I’m giving you the courtesy of a warning. Either go back to your seat or be escorted out of this establishment.” Julie enunciated every word clearly, like she was talking to an idiot.

Dave reared back, chest puffing up, reading a challenge in Julie's words. “And who the hell are you to be making that decision?”

Julie smiled, feeling once again like a predator trapping its prey. “I very nearly own the place. So you can either play nice, or you can find yourself and your mistress banned from this pub. What’ll it be?” 

“You scuzzy bitch!” Dave stepped closer, hand rising, but he didn't get it more than halfway up before a burly bloke wearing the black uniform of one of the bar staff caught him by the bicep. Julie glanced toward the bar to see her old friend Mr. Bar Owner himself watching the scene with arms crossed. He tipped his chin to her when she caught his eye, an unspoken guarantee of safety. 

Julie returned her attention to Dave.

“So what’ll it be, Dave? Are you going to behave, or would you like to be escorted out?” Julie gave him two options to signal to the man with his hand on Dave's arm that she wanted him to have the choice. 

Dave shifted his eyes at them and _her people_. He was cornered, and if he knew what was good for him he’d walk away with his dignity intact. Dave’s nose flared, but he said nothing more, wrenching his arm loose from the other man's grip and heading back to his seat. 

Julie hoped Gill had liked the show. It had been a bit more dramatic than she intended, but she'd wanted to make an impression – earn Gill’s trust back with a grand enough apology to make up for the half-arsed one at the beginning of the night. 

Gill turned towards Julie and let out a bark of laughter as they watched Dave retreat to the other side of the pub to nurse his wounded manhood. 

There was a lesson to be learned here: Don’t fuck with Julie Dodson. 

Julie kept her arm loosely wrapped around Gill and noted the way the top of Gill’s head might fit nicely under her chin. “Do you want that pint now?” Julie offered again, charmed by the tiny woman’s boisterous laugh. 

 

Gill hadn’t felt so alive in years.

“No thanks, really – lager makes me fart.” Gill declined with a smile, pulling back a little now that Dave was gone and watching as Julie tossed her head back and laughed. A moment later, Gill found herself laughing again too, and the atmosphere at their table lifted in high spirits and candour. Julie dabbed at the corner of her eyes, like it was the funniest thing she’d heard in ages. 

They had fallen into their roles easily enough, Gill thought – that had seemed almost real. And in truth it had been, at least in some way. Using what Julie had said earlier about her work persona not being entirely a lie, Gill had embellished a little. She had woven herself a character from moments of her past, imagining Julie as the young woman that had caught 17-year-old Gill Cunningham’s fancy, a whirlwind discovery about her sexuality that had left her reeling in the summer of ‘81. The kiss at the end had added a nice touch. It was unremarkable compared to the other intimately charged kisses they’d shared the night before, but fuelled by something deeper – it was like a balm on a cold winter’s day. It was honest in a way those other kisses had not been – they'd both known they were performing this time around. Julie's eyes, though, they caught Gill off-guard. Even now that Dave was gone they were tracing her features as though trying to memorise them, and Gill wasn't sure where the performances ended and their real selves began. Gill wasn't sure she cared – she had forgotten how it felt to be looked at like that, as if she hung the moon and stars. 

And so Gill adopted a look of contentment that was not even slightly feigned. Julie's arm was still curled loosely around her, fingers occasionally touching down on the small of her back, and they were facing each other so eagerly that under the table their thighs were pressed together. Gill had no doubt that anyone glancing at them would assume they were together, and she was more than happy to be enveloped by the warmth and comfort of this woman, even if it was a performance. And if it drove Dave to think she’d gotten over him, well, that was every bit as satisfying as the fantastic sex she'd had the night before.

Normally, Gill was against any sort of public displays of affection, but she felt vindictive tonight. Dave brought out the worst in her, and even though they'd successfully wound him up and shamed him here tonight, it didn't change the fact that he was getting on with his everyday life completely unaffected by office gossip. It had taken Gill this whole year to reclaim her life. So if she could get one over him in this small way tonight, she wasn't above using the hint of manipulation Julie had offered.

Part of Gill was worried about the petty rumours Dave might circulate about her at work – he was nothing if not a sanctimonious, homophobic git, after all. It nauseated Gill that she had ever loved him in the first place. And no doubt if he did start flapping his mouth it would be Gill's reputation that would suffer, again, just like it had when he'd made a spectacle of their marriage for people to gape at. But Gill had reconciled herself to the fact that was going to happen – was going to keep happening, whatever she did. That was just the way the world worked, and Gill knew she just had to do her job impeccably and not allow her abilities to be undermined by rumour.   

Gill did feel a little concerned for Julie, though. Julie had stopped Gill from going off on a tirade about of all Dave's misgivings, and she'd thrown her weight around a little too, when he'd become aggressive. Gill was certain the woman could take care of herself, leading the life she did, but just as Gill valued her reputation, she imagined Julie placed professional and personal stock on being anonymous. And that little show had drawn just a bit too much attention.

"You look serious all of a sudden," Julie said, fingers touching Gill's back and pulling her out of her thoughts. "What's up?"

"Oh," Gill shook herself, refocusing herself on her companion. "I was just thinking. All of that–" she waved a hand to encompass Dave and everything that had just happened "–that's not going to be a problem for you, is it?"

Julie snorted. "Nah. If anything it will only improve my fearsome reputation." She winked theatrically, grinning.

"But he is a cop," Gill said, "a Superintendent. If he wants to make trouble…"

"He can try," Julie replied, cutting her off, not looking bothered in the slightest. "I think he'd find I have friends a bit higher up the food chain than him, and that's all I'm willing to say on _that_ subject."

"Okay," Gill laughed, shaking her head. God, who _was_ this woman?

Gill studied her, looking up at Julie and thinking that the best word to describe her was 'handsome'. She was not conventionally beautiful, but her features were strong and held a certain degree of charisma. It didn’t hurt that she carried herself around in jewel-toned satin blouses and impeccably tailored trousers on legs that went on for days, and wore fuck-me pumps like she owned the place (did sort of own the place, by the looks of it). Julie Dodson seemed to effortlessly straddle the line between the cool sophistication of strong masculine edges and soft feminine curves.

Julie reached across with her free hand to cup Gill’s chin and tilt her head to the side. Leaning forward, she whispered roughly in Gill's ear: “See something you like?” Her hot breath tickled Gill's cheek, and the angle made kissing the spot just behind Gill’s ear that much easier – must have done, since that was exactly what happened a moment later. Gill felt her breath leave her in a little gust. She hadn't known they were still putting on a show – the woman was a rogue. 

Gill’s memory of the night before caught up with her in an echo. That was the same low voice Julie had used to enthusiastically whisper naughty things in her ear, and the hand cupping her chin was assertive in the same way it had been when it had lingered along Gill's skin and peeled away her knickers to gain access to her cunt. Gill had the presence of mind to not colour at the recollection, but if she had thought the earlier kiss was languid, for this one time stood still.

This was mad – Gill felt like a bloody schoolgirl who had landed on her crush during spin the bottle and was off to a darkened cupboard to snog, only they were doing this out in the open, in front of everyone. Gill’s fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass and she hummed when Julie hit a particularly sensitive spot. Gill had every intention of keeping her one-night-stand exactly that, but this woman was making it decidedly hard to stick to her convictions.

“You don’t have to do that," Gill whispered, more breathless than she wanted to be. "He’s not looking at us anymore.”

“No, but the _girl_ is, and it's making her squirm.” Julie couldn't possibly have known that, face flush against Gill's throat as she planted a trail of kisses along Gill’s jawline, but one glance told Gill that Julie's guess had been correct.

Over at Dave's table, Gill saw an argument brewing. His whore whispered angrily in his ear and kept flicking her eyes towards their table. How he’d managed to rope a girl nearly fifteen years his junior into spending the rest of her life with him, she’d never know. Then again, she couldn't imagine the whore had much of a choice, saddled with another mouth to feed on a uniform’s salary. 

Gill picked up the wineglass before her and took a languorous sip as Julie nibbled at her throat. She finally had time to appreciate the vintage, and found it very nice indeed. It seemed there were a number of things Julie Dodson was good for. Gill smiled.

A few minutes and a thrown glass of beer later, the whore stormed out, followed shortly by a dripping Dave. Julie, seemingly aware of everything going on around her despite her preoccupation with Gill's neck, finally pulled away once they were gone, grinning like a hyena.

That was Dave taken care of, then.

Julie Dodson was an excellent kisser, bought quality wine, and was a natural ex-husband repellent. She'd be hard-pressed not to write the woman a five star review after orchestrating that very memorable picture of Dave. As far as Gill was concerned, that made her someone worth keeping around. 

“You sadistic woman,” Gill said, complimenting Julie on the role she'd just played. 

“I think you rather liked it.” Julie winked at her, entirely too smug for her own good. Although if the way Julie kept fixing her collar was an indication, Gill had an inkling she had rumpled the seasoned professional too.

“A bit, yeah," Gill admitted, cheeks feeling hot. "And thanks for–” Gill waved her hand in between them, a little lost for words between feeling flustered and trying to convey her gratitude. 

“No problem, love.” Julie cut her off gently and saved her from tripping over her words. Julie let her free from their embrace too, and put a measure of distance between them, as if she sensed that was what Gill needed. The significance of the gesture was not lost on Gill. She felt a bit thrown by the host of conflicting emotions this woman had woken inside her. “Hope you got the house in the settlement,” Julie continued.

“I did,” Gill said, after draining her glass of wine. “Got a new bed, too.”

“Catch him in the act, eh?” Julie looked at Gill and seemed genuinely disgusted by everything she was learning about the break-up of her marriage.

Gill nodded. “I had a bonfire and everything. My friend Janet, Sammy and I managed to disassemble the bed posts and threw them in there.” She could still feel the heat radiating off it – could still feel it every time Dave was in the vicinity.

“Committed. I like that.” Julie nodded her approval. “And this Sammy, sounds like a good kid, yeah?”

Gill’s felt her eyes light up at the mention of her son. “Yeah. He's been really supportive. The one good thing to come out of it all.”

She and Sammy had grown closer than ever since the divorce; perhaps catching her in tears had been a step towards healing together. Her son had encouraged her to stay with the National Crime Faculty, but ultimately it didn’t seem right to be zipping about all across the country without someone she could rely on at home. Sammy had always been her first priority, and splitting custody with Dave was an issue she didn’t want to deal with any more than she had to. She knew her son and she knew that even if Dave did blab about tonight, he wouldn’t have any objections to her dating a woman. In actuality, Sammy had been very vocal about her dating again, driving home the fact that his father’s affairs were no fault of hers, that she deserved someone who would love her properly and sincerely. Gill didn’t quite know what she wanted at the moment; romance and relationships all sounded like too much work to seek out actively. Physical needs notwithstanding, Gill was fairly content being single again after eighteen years. 

“Aww, bless, how old is the lad?”

“Fifteen.” 

“Here's hoping he takes after his mum, then,” Julie said, saluting Gill with her drink. “Oh, that reminds me,” Julie continued, placing her drink back on the table to look inside her purse. “I’ve got these tickets.” Julie handed Gill a pair to a football game at Old Trafford stadium. “They’re no use to me – more of a rugby fan myself – but maybe your son and one of his mates... Or you might like to see a game.”

Gill looked at her oddly; she couldn’t believe this woman just handed her _free_ tickets – for the West Stand, even Gill knew those were prime seats. “I can’t possibly take these,“ Gill declined, sliding them back to Julie across the table.

“Don’t be silly, ‘course you can.”

“Are you trying to butter me up, slap?”

“Is it working?” Julie’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Come on, take them,” she insisted. “I swear, I haven’t got an ulterior motive up my sleeve. Think of your son, yeah?”

Gill chuckled. Sammy would flip. “I think he’d be right concerned where I got these from, slap.”

“Mum’s escort friend – who really does not give a toss about footie?” Julie's tone was distinctly flirtatious.

“Friends? Oh, since when?” Gill flirted back. 

“Oh, I don’t know, since I almost threw your ex-husband out on his arse?” Julie reminded her, in a way that suggested she might even lord this over her throughout the evening. Well, Julie did make a good point. 

Gill eyed the tickets on the table; she thought about Sammy again. He'd insisted that he not participate in football practice during their divorce proceedings, as she was still traveling back and forth tying up loose ends with the Crime Faculty. Her son who didn’t want to inconvenience her as they picked up the pieces of their broken family. Her son who would be quietly overjoyed, and insist she come with him rather than one of his mates. “Alright, I’ll take them off your hands,” Gill gave in, tucking the tickets inside her bag. 

Julie grinned at her widely, and they clinked glasses, as if to signal a change in the direction of their evening. It was something Gill hadn’t quite anticipated, but she'd definitely warmed up to Julie as the night wore on.

It seemed without really knowing it, Gill had come around to the idea that she may have unfairly judged the woman in question. Julie was undoubtedly good at her job, quick-witted and humorous – and also unexpectedly kind. Who was Gill to pass judgment about her life?

Gill couldn’t pin Julie down – not her motivations for apologising, nor the unwarranted show of support when it came to dealing with Dave's presence. She was intrigued to say the least. And found it all a bit surreal, trying to wrap her head around how exactly she was sitting beside her one-night-stand, having a decent heart-to-heart about the last couple of years of her life. It was like pulling teeth with her therapist—ultimately she thought it didn’t do very much for her. She still wanted to throttle Dave, even though her therapist told her she should let go of her anger. Honestly, Gill thought that getting back at him was a better way for her to deal with the hurt and embarrassment he'd caused her.

She'd certainly done that tonight. Julie had made good on her promise. 

Today, it stopped being Gill's anniversary. Today was for new friends and sound apologies. 

“Do you have a habit of people telling you their life story?” Gill asked softly, breaking the companionable silence between them.

Julie shrugged. “I have that effect on people.”

“Part of the job, eh?” Gill joked lightly. It felt natural now – neither the thought nor Gill's words held any of the previous animosity. “You should come work for me.” Gill began to imagine Julie in an impossibly sleek charcoal suit and open-collared blouse, interrogating suspects with her implicit understanding of people, or even commanding the room and giving orders. Good god, that would be entirely too distracting to think about while she sat behind her desk at work.

“I think it’s a bit too late for me to be switching careers,” Julie said, smiling, before making a joke of her own: “But likewise, if you ever get sick of nicking murders, I’ve got a number of clients who’d go to pieces over you.”

Gill blushed now, felt the heat of a full bloom colouring her cheeks. She’d take that as a  compliment. “So, how'd you get into the business, anyway, if you don't mind me asking?” Gill wondered if she could get Julie to share similarly about her own life.

 

Julie didn’t mind sharing, not really. 

Her history wasn't a thing she'd talk about with just anybody – she could count on one hand the number of people she had disclosed the details of her life to – but somehow it felt right to share them with Gill tonight.

Julie didn’t answer right away; she stared at the condensation rings on the table as she contemplated just how much to divulge to Gill. She settled for somewhere in between a soap opera of her sordid past and a synopsis of her misspent youth. Gill, after all, had shared something of her life. “Funny thing – well not ha ha funny,” Julie started. “I thought I wanted to get into policing myself – so I did, finished part of my basic training at Bruche.”

Gill did not look entirely surprised to hear that. “Really, what year?”

“’82. Dropped out to help me mum take care of me brother and sister after dad died – factory accident.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that,” Gill said, meeting Julie’s gaze. Gill hesitated before she put her hand on top of Julie's on the table. Julie’s hand twitched slightly when Gill’s hand grazed against her parents' wedding rings, the one thing she’d never leave the house without, whether they were in her purse or on her hand. They were something to slip on when the job was done, a little ritual she'd started to keep herself grounded.

Julie nodded solemnly. “It made sense at the time, you know. I made more money as an escort. It was quick, easy. Put food on the table. I couldn’t very well continue to do both.” Well, it hadn’t always been easy. Perhaps at first, but she'd been young then – too young to know the cost. And it was different back when she had serviced men; it almost felt like an out-of-body experience. She had no real choice but to feel emotionally detached – the world would have swallowed her alive and spit her back out with no regard for her soul, otherwise. No one succeeded in the business without losing a bit of themselves in the process. But the police force at the time had been no different, just another cesspool of sexism and homophobia – Julie had no doubt that fighting her way to the top there would have had its costs as well.

“We missed each other by a year,” Gill revealed, not pressing her further to elaborate. Gill squeezed her hand before letting go to pour her a drink, as if understanding that that little bit of insight into her past wasn't the most pleasant trip down memory lane.

Their eyes locked and for a brief moment Julie pictured herself back in Bruche with Gill at her side, getting into all sorts of trouble (well, she would have to be a bad influence on Gill). “Can you imagine?” Julie smirked. She thought about all the possible futures she'd missed out on. Maybe if the cards she'd been dealt had been different she may have been a DCI today, just like Gill. “Anyway, I don't work so much now.” 

Julie had been in the industry for nearly two decades. She had enough life-savings in the bank to start a new life, if she wanted to. One of the first things Julie had made sure of, once she was able, was that her mum lived comfortably, especially in her later years when she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Her brother was up in Scotland with a wife and children, and her baby sister was off in Switzerland working at an architecture firm. Julie thought it was best they never found out about her line of work, and the distance had kept it that way.

“Heading for retirement?” Gill teased. “Time to hang up your red stilettos, slap?”

“I'm not that old.” Julie rolled her eyes and tossed her hair back flippantly.

It was not like Julie to be plagued with low self-esteem, but she’d seen herself in the mirror. She'd thought about cosmetic surgery – her body was her work, after all – but it didn’t seem right, although when her arse started sagging she might think twice about it. Her clients were like every other woman on the street. That was the difference between them and the older men she'd used to service – they didn’t expect her to look twenty years younger than them.

Gill snorted. “In your prime, then?”

“Enough cheek from you," Julie said, peering at Gill archly. "I didn't hear any complaints last night.”

Julie thought Gill might have finally caught on to the absurdity of it all. She watched Gill attempt to school her features and fail spectacularly, managing to both blush and smile before she managed to turn the conversation back on Julie. “Speaking of complaints, _by the way_ , you’ve still got my knickers, lady. How is that fair?”

Julie looked at Gill, swirling her drink and smirking. “Fair? Life isn't fair. I think you can handle sweating a little bit, given how much I did after you ran out on me this morning."

"You did?" Gill asked, looking far too pleased by that little piece of information.

"Profusely," Julie affirmed. "And not in the good way. You don't know the half of it."

Gill's eyebrow arched into a question mark. “Go on, then.”

Julie obliged. After the awkwardness of her initial explanation, she owed it to Gill to be more transparent. “D’you remember how I said one of my regular clients arranged for her friend to be serviced by me?” Gill nodded, and Julie began her story. “So here I am on the phone with this woman about to have a laugh at your expense, and it turns out _other cop Gill_ totally chickened out. And that was when it dawned on me that I never did get your full name at The Grapes. And I might be a tart, but I bloody well know when to keep my mouth shut. So of course I had to lie and have a laugh with her about my quiet evening watching telly, all the while panicking because you'd run off without even saying anything. And needless to say, I had to clean the place up and get rid of the the evidence from our night, so it wouldn't be so obvious I'd had shag at her place with a total stranger. Which I did in my underwear, before I'd had a shower _or_ a coffee. I stuffed your knickers in my bag and left the keys under the mat, and by that time I'd worked up quite a sweat. After all that I went home, finally had that shower, ran some errands, and since I thought I'd never see you again or have the chance to explain, made plans to get absolutely pissed tonight. So here I am, and you can bloody well sweat a little longer.” She felt rather breathless by the time she finished speaking.

As she recovered, Julie took a moment to reflect on the coincidence of Gill and Karen being colleagues. She sniggered to herself – not total strangers after all, although neither of them needed to know that. It was moments like these that Julie wished she had someone outside of work to confide in about the thoroughly outrageous stunts her job often required her to perform. There was certainly never a dull moment.

Gill's cheeks were thoroughly pink now, and her smile had grown even wider. “Well, thanks for not blabbing, and for tidying up. I’d still like my knickers back, though.” Her insistence was decidedly half-hearted.

“I’m holding them for ransom,” Julie said, smiling and patting the pocket of her jacket, folded on the chair beside her. “We can negotiate the terms of the exchange.”

Gill leaned close to whisper: “Blackmail is illegal, you know.”

“Arrest me then, detective,” Julie taunted, holding both hands out like she’d been cuffed, her mind racing through a million little kinky scenarios. It wasn't a half bad idea. 

But Gill swatted her hands away. “Oh, good god, that’d be more embarrassing on my part.” Gill shook her head at the thought. "Imagine the explanation? This is one I certainly won't be sharing with the lads." She cocked her head to the side, looking thoughtful. “I suppose I’ll have to tell my friend Janet, though, if only because I already did, and the new story is far more entertaining.” 

“Bragging about your sexual exploits?” Julie was always rather chuffed when she was gossip worthy. 

“Well, more like commiserating over my idiocy before, but now there might be some bragging. Janet thinks I don’t put myself out there enough, but look at me – I bagged myself an escort without shelling out a single penny!” Gill grinned, delightfully bubbly. “She would have loved being a fly on the wall during that Dave bit, too.” Gill snorted. “I wish we had that on record.”

“Well, you can count your lucky stars this one was on the house. You were a _few_ hundred pounds short.” Julie tsked at Gill again, turning to drape an arm across the back of the seat and repeating the same words she'd used that morning. “I expected better from you, love.” She leaned back, knowing the movement would cause her blouse to gape open and rather enjoying the weight of Gill’s eyes undressing her.  

Gill licked her lips, expression open and inviting, and asked with a mixture of disbelief and awe: “No, really? One session?” Julie nodded her head. “Definitely high-class.”

“Mm, the highest. And you wrote me a bloody cheque and ran off, you mad cow,” Julie said, barely containing her laughter. She was keeping it – might even frame it for posterity.

“I've never paid for sex before!” Gill defended herself. “I didn’t have any money! I panicked!"

“Clearly.” Julie shook her head in mock derision. "For the record, blank envelopes full of cash are more usual."

"Usually collected _before_ the sex act takes place, though, if I remember correctly?" Gill asked, coy, picking up the wine bottle and carefully topping off their drinks with the last remaining drops. 

Julie raised one hand up in the air, “Alright, alright, I take full responsibility for the cock-up. But for the record, you ran out of there like a startled gazelle, and I didn’t have a stitch on.” 

They locked eyes, both shaking their heads at the same time. “God, we’re ridiculous,” Gill said. 

“Memorable, though. You’re easily in my Top Ten.” Julie nudged Gill's ankle with her heel. It was quite an accomplishment.

“Of what, the entire population of the Greater Manchester area, you old slap?” Gill mocked. 

Julie didn’t want to seem too besotted, but Gill could very well make the Top Five if she really thought about it. 

“Well, I’ve done stints down in London and Wales too, if you must know.” 

The moves had been during her in-between period, when she was shuffling clients around in the process of changing her _repertoire_. She hadn’t liked London so much – business was good, but competition was steep.

Most of the girls she’d met there had begun in underage street prostitution – they were young enough that they had called her _ma’am,_ even though most of them were of age by the time Julie knew them. Luckily, that hadn’t been Julie's introduction to the industry, but she remembered being lost in the world at that age, thinking she’d get out in a couple of years. But hers was an industry that swallowed people whole. 

There was no sugarcoating the world they operated in – sex was a commodity and they were bought. Julie had had to crawl her way up the sex industry food chain for a personal slice of empowerment – for that sense of autonomy, selling an experience instead of herself. It didn’t mean she held any illusions about the industry as a whole, not when the biggest market was still the exploitation of trafficked women. She helped where she could, on that front – made sure the ones who wanted to get out got out. It had been years since her time in London, but sometimes she still received letters from girls expressing their gratitude, often with pictures attached – smiling faces in graduation caps or chubby babies in their mother's arms.

Sometimes she'd met girls like her, too – ones who mostly enjoyed their work but just wanted some more independence – and she'd always given them the advice they asked for. When Julie had begun her climb up the ladder she'd never imagined how often the job would be less about the punters and more about her fellow women. Building more ladders and helping to dismantle others.

“Wales? Really, that must have been quite the time.” Gill broke Julie out of her reverie. 

“Mm. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Julie shrugged and reached for her wineglass for a sip, but stopped midway to her mouth when she felt Gill’s hand slip under the table and inch its way up the inside of her thigh. _Bugger._

Dark, hazel eyes glinted deviously. “Try me, Julie.” 

_Julie._ Her breath hitched, caught off guard by Gill's sudden boldness, the intimacy of the contact, and the way Gill’s tongue formed around the pronunciation of her name. 

Julie carefully placed her wineglass back on the table. “Book an appointment,” she managed to mutter, not entirely sure where Gill was leading the turn in their conversation, but responding in a way that felt familiar. The flutters at the pit of her stomach were new, though – what was this, bloody amateur night?

“Oh," Gill murmured, "I’ve no plans to pay for your services, slap. Unless we’re splitting the bill.”

_Splitting…_ What did that mean? Friends? Was that what Gill was implying?

They'd joked about it earlier, but it had seemed more of a fantasy than something that might actually be possible. “Just so we’re clear, you think we can be friends?” Julie asked for clarification. Gill’s forefinger ran along the zip of Julie’s trousers, taunting her. “You’re being a little too friendly right now, Gill,” Julie added. She felt a warmth spreading through her, coming right from her core. It was confusing the shit out of her. Julie was used to lust, but this felt dangerous. Gill was playing her like a bloody violin.

Gill laughed and took her wandering hands away, allowing Julie to collect her thoughts. Gill looked quite pleased with herself, seemed to have gotten the rise she wanted. Julie was secretly thrilled that Gill was someone she could go toe to toe with on a intellectual _and_ physical level. 

Everything about tonight felt different to Julie, like she had wandered into a first date. Not that she could even recall the last time she’d had one of those that wasn’t strictly business. Were they supposed to exchange numbers at the end of the night? 

Her real number. 

Her real name. 

Everything felt too real. She felt decidedly out of her element. 

“Reckon I’ll do?” Gill asked, a little twinkle in her eyes. 

“You’re really okay with this?” Julie asked, chest tight with undeniable affection. There was a hint of vulnerability in her voice, and once she heard it she recognised the feeling – part of her was a little afraid to hope that Gill might truly want to spend more time with her. “Might be a gamble, _detective_.” Julie emphasized Gill’s title.

Julie had had a number of clients over the years who had wanted to continue to see her as a friend, but she had very rarely made those exceptions. It was important to Julie that her work personas and her true self stayed separate. But there was something different about Gill that made her think she would be willing to throw all her self-imposed rules to the wind. 

First and most importantly: Gill Murray was not her client.

“I’m willing to take that risk,” Gill affirmed, and quirked her eyebrow impishly for good measure. Julie felt something loosen within her at the sight. “Although I think we’d better schedule drinks around your nights off; wouldn’t want to accidentally walk into one of your sessions – _with other Gill_.” Gill's voice turned sarcastic again – it did seem to be their preferred method of conversing.

“Oh, sod off.” Julie smiled at her lopsidedly. Gill was one of the few women she’d let milk that fuck-up until it ran dry. It seemed she was beginning to develop quite a soft spot for the diminutive detective. 

“Thought you were buying me a drink, or is that off the table?”

“Still on.” Julie straightened back into their seat, bumping shoulders with Gill as she got comfortable.

“Good. Good." Gill nodded her head and mimicked Julie, settling into their seat before turning her gaze up. She adopted a serious expression; Julie supposed it might have been convincing if not for the sly glint in her eyes. "But so we’re clear: I’m not sleeping with you again, slap.” 

“That’s what they all say,” Julie called her bluff. If Gill kept lying to herself, she might just be able to pull it off. Julie fished for the 20 pounds stuffed in her bra from earlier. Once again, she signaled to one of the bar staff for her usual. “Shots?” 

“Try to keep up,” Gill goaded her. “I’ve made proper plans tonight to get hammered.”

Julie hadn’t been challenged in quite some time. Her clients had more or less reckoned her to _be_ the challenge.

Julie scoffed. “Skinny bird like you thinks she can drink me under the table? You’re on, love.”

“Fat-arsed bitch,” Gill said as she brushed invisible lint off her jacket. A barely-there smile teased at the corner of her mouth.

The name-calling felt familiar by now, friendly and bizarrely flirtatious. Julie felt a special sort of push-pull magnetism with this woman, as if they had known each other in a different lifetime.

“Can I set you ladies up for the night?” 

Julie looked up to see her friend Liam – Mr. Bar Owner himself – sidle up to their table, presenting her with a bottle of the good stuff, the ones they kept in the back.

“Hiya!” Julie greeted, and took the plate of lemon wedges out of his hands. Liam leaned down to swiftly place a kiss on Julie’s cheek. “I’d send my apologies about what happened tonight, but–” Julie stopped midway through her sentence and they both broke into laughter.

“You’ve always been trouble, Jules.”

“Eh, technically her garbage ex-husband was the trouble,” Julie pointed to Gill. “I just took it out.” Gill rolled her eyes, and Julie smirked – if Gill was going to keep mentioning the cock-up, it was only fair that she got to use taking care of Dave as leverage from time to time. “Oh – where are my manners? Gill, this is Liam, he actually owns the pub.” Julie paused briefly. “Liam, this is my friend, Gill.” Julie said that last part almost shyly, testing out their newfound status.

Gill smiled and reached out to shake Liam’s hand. “Hi. Thanks for looking out for us.”

Liam shook Gill’s hand in return. “Not a problem, love.” Liam looked between them, coy, and asked: “Just friends? You looked quite cozy, if you don’t mind me saying.” He turned his question around on Julie. “You don’t bring clients in here very often these days.”

Julie answered, “I don’t. She's not a client.” She turned toward Gill. “Sorry, did I mention Liam has a big mouth? He means well.”

Gill remained silent, just gave them a friendly smile like she wasn’t bothered at all by the intrusive questions, affirming her offer of friendship and acceptance of Julie’s work.

“I’ll let you ladies be.” Liam announced his leave. “And Gill, as a special friend of Julie's we'll make sure you’re taken care of when you’re with us. Perks, if you will.” Liam winked before walking off.

Gill and Julie turned towards each other simultaneously. Gill perked up, a bit floored. “Wow… Who exactly are you, slap, the bloody queen of England?”

Julie snorted. “Not nearly that dignified. Certainly queen of this pub, though. Care to share my throne?”

Julie lined up the shots of tequila on the table and handed one over to Gill, who passed her a lemon wedge in return. Julie watched keenly as Gill licked her own hand to sprinkle salt, and couldn't help but imagine licking beads of sweat off the collarbones just peeking out of her blouse. Julie showed some restraint by not doing just that – but give them half an hour on the good stuff, and she might just be brave enough to ask Gill about her stance on body shots. 

Gill raised her shot glass up, catching Julie's eye as she did and apparently not missing the heat in Julie's gaze. "Your Highness," she said, pointedly licking the salt off her hand.

“To a thoroughly unprofessional relationship.”

“Cheers!"

 

 

 


End file.
